


Paraesthesia

by saint_troll



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean in Hell, Demon!Dean, Gen, M/M, season 4, vague depictions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saint_troll/pseuds/saint_troll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel raised Dean from perdition, what if he didn't come back quite right?  What if he didn't come back human at all?  Would he make the same choices?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean’s barely filled his grocery bag with water and food when the noise becomes too much. It pierces his ears suddenly and painfully. He’s struck dumb with the fear of never hearing again. It seems like a rather tame fear considering the flashes of memory that keep filtering through his mind. Images of his own body seen through what seems to be his own eyes as metal hooks pull and tear at him; as screams wrench themselves from his throat. And the disjointed moments of silence that follow; flashes of too bright white light embracing him and then tearing him apart. 

His jaunt down memory lane is cut short as the pitch of the sound increases. If it gets much worse, Dean’s actually worried that his head will burst. After all, he could very well still be down in the pit. And wouldn’t that just be the shits? He’d all but begged Alastair to let him take his blade in hand; anything to be free of the rack. And for what? Fucking mind games?

Glass shatters and he hits the floor fast and hard. Shit, that definitely felt real. Gasping as his body tries to accommodate the sudden loss of air from when his chest hit the concrete floor, Dean collapses onto the now dirty linoleum and stares at the ceiling in bewilderment. 

The sound has stopped. The wind outside has died down and there is an nearly inhuman calm to the gas station. That meant only one thing. A storm was coming. And there isn’t a doubt in Dean’s mind that when it comes it will be a mass of furious, black smoke. 

***

Bobby is a hard sell when Dean finally gets to his place in Sioux Falls. He tries all the classics on him before finally believing it’s him and not a demon in a meat suit. Truth be told, Dean had almost shit when the trials had started. He wasn’t all that convinced he’d come back… right.

What was worse was the fact that while none of it actually hurt, it felt like a muted pressure; something barely contained by a force that Dean could neither see nor feel. The holy water doesn’t eat away at his flesh leaving tendrils of steam rising into the air, but it does make him feel raw and exposed. Dean keeps this to himself. The salt doesn’t choke him, but it does tie his stomach in knots. Still, he’s silent. The press of iron and silver to his skin itch but they don’t exactly hurt. With trembling hands, Dean curls in on himself and away from Bobby. That’s not how it is supposed to feel, but it’s not exactly testing positive for possession either. All it does is bring on more images of torn and bloody flesh hanging in ribbons from a still breathing body. 

Each test paints a clearer picture in his mind. It’s him that’s hanging there on the hooks broken and bleeding. It’s him screaming… and then suddenly, it’s not. 

In as such, after all that, the reunion with his brother feels anticlimactic. There is, of course, the startled response to his arrival, no more than a half dozen whys and hows floating around in the air, and the questioning if Dean really is Dean. The look that the piece of ass his brother had been tapping gives him is a little creepy. But at least she leaves almost right away.

Thankfully, Sam takes Bobby word as gospel. Dean’s not all that sure he could suffer the side effects of more testing. Not without a longer breather between each go. His skin already feels too tight; like it’s stretched over so much bone and flesh. When he looks in the hotel mirror, he doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him. His chest hurts and he wants nothing more than to lay down and sleep for a week.

After everything is said and done, it’s rather clear that no one has a damn clue who dragged him back and why. Dean hasn’t shown either of the other two hunters the scar burned onto his left shoulder; the angry red hand print he’s been too scared to look at for more than a few moments… let alone touch. He has several distinct memories of that arm and so much more quite literally being torn from his torso in a calm melody of humming, following laughter and a sense of morbid curiosity. Yeah, no thank you. And worse, he remembers the burn of the light. He’d never imagined hell as particularly bright. But when it had been, the pain left him at the brink.


	2. Chapter 2

Ultimately, it’s decided that they visit a medium. The line of reasoning being that perhaps the spirit world is privy to something those topside are not. The insistence to dig the answer up has started to give Dean pause. It’s pretty damn well hidden. There’s probably a reason for it. Granted, shit like that has never stopped them before. But something about this feels different. No one listens. The electric current that is curling and sliding over his skin is a constant reminder that something is not right. It’s written off over and over again as a side effect of his own, personal resurrection. Deep down, he knows it is not.

Enter Pamela. She’s biker chic hot and Dean finds his tongue tripping over his teeth and lips as he tries and fails to successfully flirt with her. He’s not stupid enough to share the details of the very lewd and startlingly disturbing fantasies that are fluttering about his mind. 

Unsure if it’s a luck or something worse, she seems to knows the Winchester rep and also only has eyes for Sammie; the bastard. It’s down to business after that. And finally, for a brief moment… he feels at ease, normal. He should’ve know better. It doesn’t last long. 

Even after growing up around the stuff, all the psychic crap still gives Dean the jeebs. He scans Pamela’s set-up and shuffles to take his place around the table. He shares a look with Sam over the table before glancing at Bobby. Dean is beyond ready for this shit to be done with and moving onto the next step of things. There’s something wrong and damn it, he wants to know what it is. He hasn’t felt this anxious since the first time he snuck some of dad’s hidden stash of booze while he was out on a job. It’s unsettling. 

“Right. Take each other's hands.”

Dean reaches out and grasps Sam’s hand with a smile. It’s not the first seance they’ve taken part of. It’s actually almost too familiar; surreal in that even after his stint in hell that some things never change. Hunting is strangely like riding a bicycle. Sure, it’s a bicycle chock full of guns, shackles, salt and magic demon knives… but falling back into the habits are undeniably second nature. He tries to forget the fact that the aforementioned bicycle didn’t used to make his skin crawl with an ravenous bone-deep ache. 

“And, I need to touch something our mystery monster touched.” Pamela informs them. 

He’s so focused on Sam and Bobby’s hands gripping his that when Pamela slides her hand up and along Dean’s inner thigh, he jumps. Sure, he’d been flirting his ass off earlier. He liked to think of it as charming the natives. It fell in line with the school of thought that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. But damn, he hadn’t been expecting that. “Whoa. Well, he didn't touch me there.” More like there wasn’t a place that remained unscathed. 

“My mistake.” There’s laughter in her voice as she winks at him and removes her hand but not before giving his thigh a quick squeeze. He supposes it’s meant to be reassuring. It isn’t.

Dean’s heart beats faster in his chest. He glances around the table; his eyes stopping on everyone else’s briefly. Avoiding the big reveal is a moot point, apparently there’s no time like the present. Pressing his lips into a tight line, Dean shrugs off his outer shirt and then pulls up his left t-shirt sleeve. He feels Sam’s stare without looking up to verify it. Bobby’s thankfully his usual self; classically stoic. 

Only when Pamela lays her hand on the scar, it is all that Dean can do to hold back from crying out. It’s all at once too much and not enough and her touch feels… wrong. Pinching his eyes shut with a pained growl, he forces himself not to pull away from her. Somehow, he knows it in his gut that she’s not meant to lay her hands on him like that… there. It’s not hers. Dean knows jack as to why but… he just knows. Which is completely illogical; not to mention, ridiculous.

“Okay?” Pamela’s tone curt and business like. Dean knows better than to challenge her methods. Eyes still closed, he bites his lip as she begins to chant. “I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.”

A powered off television on the other side of the room switches on and static fills the room. All at once Dean is back at the gas station curled on the flood as noise pierces the air. He shakes it off with an angry sigh. Pamela doesn’t let this parlor trick slow her down. “I invoke, conjure, and command... Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy.”

Peering at her, Dean can’t help but question. “Castiel?” He’d like to be able to say the name felt familiar on his tongue. He’d love to claim any connection. But he’s got nothing.

“Its name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back.” The smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth reveals her confidence in her abilities. Dean is almost jealous. He’s felt altogether useless since returning. The sound levels of the static rise, filling the room with white noise. The table beneath their joined hands begins to shake. “I conjure and command you, show me your face.”

As she presses the creature, Castiel, to show its face, the tension in the room skyrockets. Bobby is the first to open his mouth and suggest. “Maybe we should stop?”

Shaking her head, Pamela raises her voice. “I almost got it. I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!”

It takes Dean exactly ten seconds to realize that the screaming isn’t just in his head. It’s Pamela. He looks to her face just in time to see her eyes fly open. He expects the abysmal black of a demon’s eyes; red, yellow, hell… even white. What he does not expect is flames burning brighter than the sun. The brilliance of the light is… familiar and painful. What the hell does that even mean?

As Pamela collapses, Bobby catches her. He cradles her head and lowers her to the floor. “Call 9-1-1!”

Sam is on his feet and out of the room within seconds. It’s muffled and distant, but Dean can hear him calling for help. Crouching over Pamela, he itches to press his hand to her face or neck to make sure she’s okay. The damage to her eyes gives him pause. She’s still conscious and if he had any tears left, he’d cry for her. Her eyelids, somehow mostly undamaged by the flames, open to reveal charred empty sockets. As it turns out, his tears would be nothing more than a mockery. 

Sobbing, panic fills each and every word that Pamela speaks. “I can't see! I can't see! Oh god!”


	3. Chapter 3

Revenge has always been a supremely effective motivator. And that is how Dean and Bobby find themselves in an abandoned barn on the outskirts of town. Every protective sigil the have knowledge of is painted over the surfaces; above, below, beside, beneath. They are going to trap this thing if it is the last thing they do. They’ll get their answers. And then Dean promises himself, then this thing, this Castiel, is going to pay for what it did to Pamela. 

“You sure you did the ritual right?” Dean is well aware that Bobby knows his shit. He knows. But it’s just that nothing’s happening. This stuff is usually pretty Johnny-on-the-spot. It doesn’t help that he wants to get the meet and greet of the latest big bad out of the way. Everything about the barn is making his skin crawl. He hates being forced to contain the jittery spikes of anticipation and trepidation buried deep in his gut. It almost makes the look Bobby gives him comical. “Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?”

As if on cue, a loud rattling shakes the roof. Dean arms himself and notes Bobby doing the same. The slide of metal on metal as they ready their guns is routine enough to calm Dean’s nerves. He moved to the far end of the barn and waits. “Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind.”

The wind howls as the doors fling open. There is a loud slam as the doors are forced against the walls before flapping closed in an array of jagged broken steel and wood. It’s quite a feat even for a monster, Dean admits. But it’s still all pomp and circumstance; the big shock and awe. Every demon this side of the Mississippi had a schtick. The grander the entrance… the bigger pain in the ass they usually are. The business suit and trenchcoat are a disparaging quirk. The bursting light bulbs as the creature wearing said suit and coat… not so much. Still, it’s a far cry better than white-hot flame burning his eyes out of his skull. 

Flinching from the sparks raining down on them from the now busted light bulbs, Dean opens fire. He barely takes a breath between shots. All too soon, he’s out of ammo. Their target is still moving in on them quickly. Dean tosses his gun to the side and pulls out his knife; the knife Ruby had given them. “Who are you?”

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” The creature’s eyes rake over the symbols cover the interior of the warehouse then fall to Dean. If the hunter didn’t know any better, he’d say Castiel looks surprised. 

His voice sounds rough from disuse. There is a hesitancy behind it belied only by the fact that it almost sounds like an exaggerated whisper hidden within a steady snarl. It’s interesting to say the least. But now is not the time or place to be mulling over the pleasantness of someone’s voice. Especially when that someone just blinded a family friend that was doing no more than trying to help him and his brother. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

Dean strikes viper fast. His blade slides through so much cloth, skin, fat and muscle without effort. It’s too easy. And then he’s sucking in desperate gasps for air as Castiel does nothing more than glance down and with a look of indifference pulls the knife out of his chest before dropping it to the floor. What little bleeding there is, stops immediately. All in all, Castiel moves as if no injury has been done to him. That’s it. They’re screwed; totally and completely screwed. 

Behind Dean, Bobby raises a firearm. Two steps later, Castiel is dragging him around by the barrel of said firearm like some kind of puppet; stopping only when he has Bobby inches from him. Pressing his fingers to Bobby’s forehead, Castiel releases him. Bobby crumples to the ground with little fanfare. His heart moments away from beating out of his chest, Dean lets his eyes wander over their opponent. It doesn’t matter how strongly he stinks of fear now. This monster already knows. They are seriously overpowered and overwhelmingly outgunned.

And then the damnedest thing happens. Castiel opens his mouth and speaks. “We need to talk, Dean.” Fuck. It knows his name. That cannot be good. “ Alone.”

***  
It’s a god damn nightmare. Everything he’d ever hoped Sammy would never become; he’s it. He’s a black-eyed hell bitch. He’s not possessed, not even close. He is a fucking demon. 

Dean draws his fingers over his shirt where he knows his anti-possession tattoo lies and lets his eyes drop to Castiel’s feet. The thing’s strong enough to thoroughly kick his ass without even trying, any defensive posturing would be foolish on his part. Shit, that really shouldn’t matter. They’ve faced every sort of badass imaginable. This one was no different. Lifting his chin defiantly, Dean counters. “So, I’m a demon… what are you? Some kind of demonic babysitter? Here to make sure I do Hell’s bidding?” He steps that much closer to Castiel. “Well, fuck you and yours. I’m still here. There’s still enough of me in here… and I won’t be some Throne or Dominion’s bitch. You got me?!” 

A smirk slowly spreads across Castiel’s face. “Chrestus.” He whispers before kissing his thumb and pressing it to Dean’s forehead. 

If Dean had thought the burning sensation covering his skin had been bad before, it’s nothing in comparison to what surged over him when Castiel touched him. Falling to a knee in genuflection, he stares up at the creature in wonderment. “What are you?”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.”

***

As unbelievable as it sounds to his own ears, it’s got to sound completely ridiculous to Bobby and Sam. In theory anyway. Dean even voices as much. An angel for fuck’s sake. You couldn’t make that shit up. He hasn’t mentioned the fact said angel had told him that he rose from Hell a demon. Dean’s got no clue how either of them would take that news. So, he tucks it away for safe keeping and promises himself to research the validity of the claim when he has a moment to himself.

“Well then, tell me what else it could be?” Sam challenges.

Damn little brothers and their habit of throwing shit back in your face. Why would an angel giving a flying fuck about him rotting away down in hell? He’s as unremarkable as they come. And right now, he cannot believe Sam is actually drinking the koolaid. “Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel!”

Rolling his eyes, Sam tries to placate him. “Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think this Castiel would lie to you about it?” 

Dean spots it immediately. “Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie.” It’s a well known fact. So well known that it’s entirely undisputable as far as Dean is concerned. After all, he’s lying as the speak. Sure, it’s by omission. But a lie is a lie is a lie.

Bobby looks up at them from his books. His features are etched with worry. He doesn’t speak.

“A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps... and Ruby's knife?” Sam is sputtering as he speaks. Dean almost laughs. Almost. The irony of his little brother’s words is almost too much. “Dean, Lilith is scared of that thing!”

He knows. God does he know. “Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one... at some point... ever?” It’s sound logic. Why now? Why him? 

“Yeah. You just did, Dean.” Sam shoots back.

Pain in the ass… Anyone who tells you otherwise about siblings is lying. “I'm trying to come up with a theory here. Okay? Work with me.”

Sam is shaking his head at him. “Dean, we have a theory.” 

Bullshit, they do. Their theory, in fact, sucks. After what, a couple millennia, angels return to Earth. What crap was that? “Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please.”

Sam sighs at him trying to hide his frustration he continues. “Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we…”

“Okay! Yeah, okay.” Dean snaps his fingers and point at his brother; his interruption abrupt. That’s exactly what he was saying. “That's the point. We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking angel just because it says so!” It was that kind of blind obedience that led to crazy shit like Heaven’s Gate and Jamestown go down. You don’t go around believing that someone speaks for God unless they can prove that shit down to within a shadow of a doubt.

Their debate is interrupted when Bobby finally speaks up. “You two chuckleheads want to keep arguing religion, or do you want to come take a look at this?” Quirking an eyebrow at Sam, Dean shuffles over to Bobby’s desk as he begins to explain. “I got stacks of lore; Biblical, pre-Biblical. Some of it's in damn cuneiform. It all says an angel can snatch a soul from the pit.”

It is not that simple. There’s no fucking way. Besides, it says soul. Not spawn. “What else?” The big bad doesn’t just rise up and announce himself. And he certainly does not speak the truth. 

“What else, what?” Bobby grumbles at him. 

Dean knows the man hates being questioned. But damn it, this is important. “What else could do it?”

Snorting, Bobby gives Dean a once over. “Airlift your ass out of the hot box? As far as I can tell, nothing.”

“Dean, this is good news.” Sam tries to reassure him.

The sincerity in his brother’s voice turns his stomach. “How?”

“Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap. I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?”

Shit, now there’s hope too. And that never bodes well for anybody. What are they going to say when they find out that this is exactly another round of demon crap; only Castiel is the demon. Dean is shaking his head even as he speaks. “Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then what? There's a God?” It’s damn ridiculous to even be having this conversation. 

“At this point, Vegas money's on yeah.” Bobby retorts. 

No. Just, no. “I don't know, guys.” Dean is not ready to jump on that bandwagon. Not yet.

“Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof.” Sam’s patient tone slow and patient.

He can’t help but gape at his brother now. Sure, Sammy tended to get on board for a lot of crazy shit. But, this was seriously the craziest to date. “Proof?” 

“Yes.”

“Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it.” He’s really, really not. The didn’t know how wrong he’d come back.

“Why not?”

Son of a bitch. Dean turns away; his jaw clenching. “Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?”

“Dean…”

And there it is. The pity. He doesn’t need or want to be cooed over like some wilting flower, damn it. “I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy.”

“Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs.”

Oh, fuck off. “Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by... God.” And that was it, wasn’t it. It didn’t matter if there was irrefutable proof that this Castiel was an… Angel of the Lord. It mattered that Dean didn’t want to be special. He didn’t warrant such treatment… from anybody.

“Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat.” Sam responds bluntly.

The kid was seriously able to shrug him off with next to no effort. Since when had he grown up so damn much? That’s right; the last thirty ye… no, three months… he’d been all but on his own. Sighing, Dean returns his attention to Bobby. “Fine. What do we know about angels?”

He picks up a stack of books and drops them on the table that Dean is standing next too. “Start reading.” 

It’s not exactly a suggestion. Dean turns and gives Sam the stink eye. “You're gonna get me some pie.” There’s gotta be some reward for doing all this research shit. He grabs a book from the pile and flips it open.


	4. Chapter 4

They’ve barely picked up their asses and collected their thoughts before everything around them go completely bat shit crazy. Hunter after hunter, everyone is dying… violently. And fuck yes, Dean is upset. But, it some dark corner of his mind he’s not. And that makes it worse. So many innocent people killed and for what? Each and every bloody corpse they happen upon sends his thoughts reeling back into the pit. By the time they’re headed back to Bobby’s, he’s exhausted. His skin still feels like tissue paper stretched over so many sharp corners. His blood boils in his veins. And he’s so fucking cold. It’s not really much of a surprise that he crashes in the passenger seat of the Impala on the way home.

Dean startles awake not knowing how long he’s even been asleep. Baby’s not moving and Sam’s nowhere to be seen. Ears ringing, Dean stumbles out of the car to search the gas station. Gun in hand, he’s smart enough not to wander indoors Luckily enough, the storefront is floor to ceiling glass panelling. It’s easy enough to make sure Sam’s not inside. There’s no one that tall. He picks up his step as he nears the public bathroom. The sound of broken glass and rattling metal draws him there. The frost spreading over the men’s room door only clenches the deal. Kicking his way through the door, Dean shoots at what appears to be the ghost of a guy that looks an awful lot like the Resnick guy from the bank heist fuck up.

From there on out, it only gets hairier. Meg decides to haunt his ass. This shit smarts. At least, it seems, she can’t see his true face. It’s blasphemous, he’s sure but he can’t help but be thankful for small blessings. 

Whatever is going on, it knows right where to target them. If someone wanted to guilt their asses to death; well, they’ve got a leg up on them. When Sam and Bobby finally haul their ass inside, Dean’s curled up in a ball and so fucking over taking kick after kick to his stomach from some pissed off spirit. He aims his gun at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. And then, she’s gone.

Clutching his stomach, he lets Sam drag him after Bobby. Guy’s on a mission to show them something important. As long as it’ll help ghostbust this shit, Dean is game. He laughs through the pain when he sees it. Bobby, the paranoid bastard, has built a demon-proof panic room. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d hug the guy. Deep down, he’s worried he’s going to go full on black eyes at any minute. There isn’t all that much he can do but wait for it to happen and deal with the aftermath later.

 

***

The pain never recedes but it doesn’t exactly get worse either. Elbows deep in salt bullets, Dean takes a long hard look at his brother before he finally decides to speak his mind. “See, this is why I can't get behind God.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

Cracking his neck, Dean continues. “If he doesn't exist, fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason. Just random, horrible, evil. I get it, okay. I can roll with that.” And he has for his entire life. It’s the other side of the coin that really pisses him off. “But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?”

Eyes wide, Bobby gives Dean a considering look. “I ain't touching this one with a 10-foot pole.”

And he’s completely aware of how unlike himself he might sound to others, but this is eating at him. Why doesn’t God help? “Yeah.” 

The silence between them swells and then fades in the rustling of papers and the sound of liquid sloshing around in their respective glasses and bottles. There’s nothing more to say unless one of them figure this shit out. They can’t camp out in this room forever. Dean can’t camp out in this room forever… he’ll tear himself apart first.

***

As luck would have it, some asshole is raising the dead on purpose. And not just any dead; witnesses to the unnatural. Dean just cannot believe their luck. Granted, he’d always know that if they didn’t have bad luck… the wouldn’t have any luck at all. But come on. A day. One god-damn day without this wonky shit would feel like Christmas. And not the pagan god kind with their meadowsweet and human sacrifices. It would feel better than Christmas.

“Whoever did this had big plans. It's called: the rising of the witnesses. It figures into an ancient prophecy.” Bobby has a book in hand and is reading disjointed phrases from it. 

Dean really doesn’t like the foreboding in Bobby’s voice. You take one seriously grumpy old man and put the fear of whatever this shit was in him. That. Yeah, that… was some freaky hoodoo. “Wait, wait. What? What book is that prophecy from?”

“Well, the widely distributed version's just for tourists, you know. But long story short…” He pauses. “Revelations.” Bobby meets their eyes in turn. “This is a sign, boys.”

“A sign of what?” Dean does a double take at his brother as their voices fall in line with each other. They hadn’t done that shit since they were kids. And usually, when they were on the same wavelength like that, something big and something even badder was going down.

And son of a bitch, Bobby goes and proves it. “The apocalypse.”

***

Their game plan ends up being one of Bobby’s spells. The shit side of things is that they have to do the magic crap over an open flame; so not on the floor plans of the panic room. Dean’s secretly thrilled. Maybe, just maybe, getting out of the panic room will calm his stomach and make him feel a little less like flaying his own flesh off his bones. 

The living room is glowing with ghosts and a mist of fired salt before they’re done. All three of them are exhausted and looking a little bit haunted themselves. It was one thing to live with all the shit that you’d done as a hunter; everyone you couldn’t save. It was another to have them show up and tell you in excruciating detail exactly why their death was on your hands; like you were the monster in the first place. 

***

Dean wakes up from an uneasy sleep to the feeling that someone or something is watching him. For a moment, he’s worried that Bobby’s spell didn’t work and their fool asses are about to be ganked by some vengeful spirit. When his eyes land on Castiel standing quietly in the doorway of the kitchen, he lets out a sigh. Whether it’s one of relief or exasperation, he’s not entirely sure. 

Checking to make certain that Sam’s still asleep on the couch, Dean pushes himself up and off of the floor. He walks over to Castiel with intent. Pins and needles flare to life at every joint and extremity. Forcing himself to hide the grimace it brings to his face, Dean lets out a weary breath. But before he can speak, the angel does. “Excellent job with the witnesses.”

It’s uncommon to get praise for what they do. It’s enough to garner a pause before the words sink in. “You were hip to all this?” Dean accuses.

“I was, uh, made aware.”

“Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assist!” He settles an angry glare on Castiel. “You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest?!”

There’s a gentleness on the angel’s features that it completely at odds with his words as he speaks. It fucks with Dean’s head. “But you didn't.”

Simple as that? You didn’t. He’ll show him hearts ripped out of chest; shove the beating pound of flesh down his throat in the process, too! The fuck, man? “I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos. You know, Michael Landon. Not dicks.”

And there it is again. That surprised squint. Dude’s seriously looking at him with some kind of benign affection or some other creepy shit too. Dean scowls as Castiel steps that much closer to him and speaks again. “Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I am a soldier.”

That so, buddy? Dean tries to shake the pins and needles out of his limbs as they seem to spread rather than dissipate. Jutting out his chin, Dean challenges him. “Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?” And just like that, the edges of Castiel’s face harden. Looks like he’s pissed the angel off. Despite a part of Dean that is terrified of the real threat Castiel could pose, he revels in his ability to anger him. If he’s really a motherfucking demon, then they aren’t exactly supposedly be on the level, right? They ain’t supposed to be friends.

“I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns.”

Larger concerns. Dicks, man. Seriously, were all angels dicks? “Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?”

“There is a God.”

And there’s a kicker. Castiel doesn’t even seem pissed that Dean doubts the existence of God. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s like it’s expected of him. Judgemental douchebag. It’s worse than talking to a bible thumping, honest-to-shit, man of the so-called cloth. There are seriously better ways to look at a man than down your nose. But they sit there and expect everything to be taken on faith. Fuck faith. “I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?” 

“The Lord works…”

“If you say mysterious ways, so help me, I will kick your ass.” And Dean is so not kidding about that. He will do his level best to lay Castiel out for saying shit like that. Of course, the guy… the angel, doesn’t seem to even perceive it as a threat. Why would he? He’s just giving Dean this considering look that in the right light could look like amusement. He thinks this is funny? Castiel’s bemusement fades quickly when Dean continues. “ So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse.”

“That's why we're here. Big things afoot.”

If he didn’t know better, Dean would almost think that Castiel was proud to prove him wrong and gloating in it. Standing their patting his own back because what… after the world has gone to hell or at least has a foot in the door, the angelic marines or some shit show up? “Do I want to know what kind of things?”

“I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals.”

Bobby seriously would’ve been a better person to stalk in the middle of the night over this shit. For all it was worth, Castiel might as well have been speaking another language. “Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld?”

His smart ass comment doesn’t even give the angel pause. Not conversationally, anyway. He does squint his eyes again but only momentarily. In the end, Castiel barrels forward with his explanation. “Those seals are being broken by Lilith.”

Figures, seals were some kind of mojo and the hell bitch of hell bitches was leading the parade. “She did the spell. She rose the witnesses?”

“Mm-hmm.” Castiel shifts on his feet. He actually hesitates before he finally explains. “And not just here. Twenty other hunters are dead.”

Now it makes sense. Dean realizes at this should enrage him. He should see red at the mention of so many good men and women dead. There isn’t even a blip. “Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us.” Smart. Deadly. Lethal. Hot. Typically, not his kind of woman except the hot part. Wait, that wasn’t normal. So, instead of getting pissed about useless deaths… he was lusting after good ole white eyes herself? Shit, he was more fucked up than he’d let himself realize.

“Lilith has a certain sense of humor.”

If you could even call it humor. Most would call it a mean streak. A better way to describe it was that she was simply an evil bitch. “Yeah, well, we put those spirits back to rest.” Dean replies as he flexes his hands and shakes out his fingers; the twinge of electric current has spike to a steady sensation of pins and needles spreading over his body. 

“It doesn't matter. The seal was broken.”

“Why break the seal anyway?” There had to be a point beyond causing chaos and suffering. The murder of over twenty hunters, that shifted the odds over to the demon populace in a big way. Dean had to wonder if his current state had been the result of or was in itself some kind of seal.

“Think of the seals as locks on a door.” Castiel offers in what is nearly a patient tone. 

He was being kind. ...to him? Yeah, still weird. But it pays off, it clicks. “Okay. Last one opens and…” Dean seriously hopes the answer isn’t going to be a riddle or some random ass sounding prophecy. He is so over that shit.

“Lucifer walks free.”

Wait. What? What?! “Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing.” There couldn’t be. The thought of it chilled the hunter to his core. Quite literally. Even imagining such a being made his blood run cold. The was some heavy duty dark shit. Darker than their usual fare. The words of a long dead preacher float through Dean’s mind; the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that he didn’t exist.

Castiel frowns at him; eyes dragging over him again; almost like he knows something that Dean doesn’t. It’s starting to really creep him out. “Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?”

Touche. “To stop Lucifer.”

“That's why we've arrived.” Castiel confirms with a nod. 

Figures. His point from earlier stood. Why hadn’t God’s army of soldier done something before twenty men and women died? Why hadn’t they saved him from Hell, for that matter?! “Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice.” Frowning at him, Castiel turns to face Dean. The atmosphere around him has darkened. Maybe he should’ve kept his smart ass comments to himself? Nah, there was a certain satisfaction to be found in challenging the pious dick. 

“We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here.” Dean snorts at that.

Castiel steps closer to him. His face is inches from Dean’s neck when he adds in an ominous tone. “You should show me some respect.” Unable to stop himself, Dean takes a step back. There’s something buried deep in the angel’s tone that compels his obedience. “I dragged you out of Hell.” He remembers the blood and black; and then the burning bright. Cowering more, Dean can’t help but mewl at Castiel’s feet. “I can throw you back in.” Anguish and agony bleed through his veins. 

And like that it stops, he’s gone. And Dean is left alone in the kitchen; rooted to the floor. For a moment he’d seen himself back on the rack. In his mind, his mouth is full of his own blood. He remembers as he relives the screams, that in the middle of everything he’d nearly bitten through his own tongue trying to stave off the pain. He sees his own hands clawing their way through blackened wounds and pushing out through the other side.

Swallowing back the bile that rises in his throat at the memory, Dean shuffles back into the living room and lays back down. He mulls through his thoughts; staunchly avoiding any memories of the pit that try to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. He’s thankful that during the commotion of the evening that the numb tingling in his arms and feet has finally faded away. Somewhere along the way, he falls back asleep. It’s in slumber that the reality of hell really messes with him. It’s probably not been more than a half hour since he nodded off before Dean’s jerking awake with a panicked gasp. 

“You all right? What's wrong, Dean?” Sam kneels beside him, worry written all over his face. 

He’s dressed for the day so maybe it had been more than thirty minutes since Dean had fallen back asleep. Shoving himself up into a sitting position, Dean meets his brother’s eyes. “So... You got no problem believing in... God and angels?”

“No, not really.” He answers plainly.

“So, I guess that means that you believe in the Devil?”

Sam swallows loudly. Frowning, he asks, “Why are you asking me all this?”


	5. Chapter 5

They’d failed to stop the rising of Samhain. Screwed the pooch and yet Dean was sitting there watching kids climb around on jungle gyms, pushing each other on the swings, digging in the sand, and chasing each other around in mirth; it didn’t feel like a failure. And he’s wondering how wrong Castiel could be about how, or rather what, Dean came back as. If he really was everything that Alastair had attempted to make him become, why not let Samhain walk the Earth? Obviously, he’d made a different choice and it was weighing on him. Dean’s about to leave when the air around him changes. It’s like getting zapped by static electricity but it envelopes his entire body. Castiel. “Let me guess you’re here for the I told you so.”

“No.”

Snorting, Dean lets his eyes drift with the movement of a pair of boys kneeling around a battlefield of green army men. “Well, good, cause I’m really not that interested.” He’d love to demand an explanation; anything to put his mind at ease.

“I am not here to judge you, Dean.”

Now that is a complete surprise. Before this case, angel boy had been ready to throw him back in the pit. And it was more than clear that his fellow soldier, Uriel, had little patience for the likes of Dean and his brother; the way he’d spit the word abominations at the two of them, pure hatred lacing his words. “Then why are you here?”

“Our orders…”

Their orders. Right. A bunch of self righteous sons-of-bitches; wiping out an entire town to stop the breaking of a seal because God told them to do it? Totally not cool. “Yeah, you know, I’ve had about enough of these orders of yours…”

“Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do whatever you told us to do.”

That. That was unexpected. Really? Him? “Your orders were to follow my orders?” Oh, that must have pissed Uriel right the hell off in all manners of speaking.

“It was a test, to see how you would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say.”

A test. It was getting clearer. The guy upstairs didn’t trust him. And why should he? He was fucking hell spawn, after all. “It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive.” Dean finally looks over at Castiel. He’s an impossible read. There’s a whole apathy thing flowing off the guy mixed with kindness. Anyway, one would think as a soldier of God that the dude wouldn’t give two shits about what could have gone down. “So I, uh, failed your test, huh? I get it.” 

That has to be why Castiel is here. He’s about to get smacked down for misbehaving… by a dick angel. Or worse, considering what he is. “But you know what? If you would have waved that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call. See, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don’t even know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is, that this, here? These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it is still here because of my brother and me.”

“You misunderstand me, Dean, I am not like you think.” Castiel wrings his hands together. He stares at the ground for a moment before letting his attention fall upon the playing children. “I was praying that you would choose to save the town.”

Dean can’t hide the shock that no doubt washes across his face. He’d expected wrath. He’d expected fury. He’d expected… torture. Not this. “You were?”

“These people, they’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art.” The angel’s gaze has taken a distant look to it. “And yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation. Now that’s not an expression, Dean, it's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means.”

Screw him for bringing that up, it’s not like his existence isn’t a constant reminder Dean’s focus falls back to the kids playing. Hell on earth, for all creation. It turns his stomach to think of their lives destroyed. He’d been raised a hunter; fully aware of all the evil and nasty shit that went bump in the dark. And look how his stint in Hell had changed him. He shudders to imagine the innocent of the world stretched across someone’s rack. They really needed to try harder stopping this shit. 

“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” Castiel’s tone has changed from its usual all-knowing gruffness to that of an unsure child asking for forgiveness after already having been caught in the act of misbehaving.

Maybe angel boy wasn’t a dick like the rest of the crew? At least not as big of one? And Dean, he could definitely keep a secret. Shit, Castiel had kept his. “Okay.”

“I’m not a… hammer, as you say. I have questions, I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here.” He’s utterly shocked at Castiel’s words. Speechless, in fact. It had been a far flung hope that maybe, just maybe, Castiel wasn’t like the rest of the angels they’d encountered. But that’s all it had been, a hope.

One long, hard look at the guy and it becomes suddenly apparent. The doubt is there as plain as day. Weren’t angels suppose to follow God without question; wasn’t that the point of the whole free will thing being humans only? Cocking his head, Dean moves to speak but Castiel beats him to it. “But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don’t.”

He knows so much more than he’s telling Dean realizes. And he wants to ask but he also doesn’t envy his own ignorance. For the time being he offers Castiel a sad smile and quick nod of understanding. Dean hopes the angel understands that his secret is safe; as his own is with him.. Glancing back out at the kids, he lets out a world weary sigh. When he turns to speak to Castiel again, he’s vanished. Dean surveys the area for him before standing and heading to meet up with Sam. It’s been a long day and the sooner they bug out of this town, the happier he’ll be.


	6. Chapter 6

Ruby. 

Dean doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that his little brother has chosen to knowingly and willingly trust a demon or the fact that things have gotten so bad that a Winchester has resorted to working with monsters. 

Much to his displeasure; it turns out, she’s actually helpful. Well, once she stops gaping at him and threatening to blow the lid off his big, dark secret. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Dean doesn’t trust her farther than he could throw her possessed ass. He doesn’t know why she’s decided to lie by omission to Sammy. And as much as he’s thankful for it, he makes him trust the bitch even less. 

Shit goes from crazy to worse the moment they meet Anna. That’s the only description that Dean can come up with. He’s glad that she’s pretty much been declared crazy because some of the shit that is coming out of her mouth about him is daming. You know, in the literal sense.

Demons and Angels all vying for a single person; it’s overwhelming. He doesn’t even fight it when him and the former angel end up getting really, really comfortable in the back of the Impala. What she’s doing bumping uglies with someone like him, someone of his kind, he’s got no idea. As the luck, which again is nothing but bad, would have it, the experience ends up being one of the last truly human acts Anna will experience. But a hunter can’t live his life looking back, not when family is involved. Dean honestly wonders if the black smoke that is no doubt currently coursing through his veins makes it easier to write her death off or if he’s really just that focussed on Sammy that no one else matters any longer. 

It’s with a heavy heart and anger that could level a god damn mountain that he hands her over to Castiel and Uriel. He won’t meet Castiel’s searching gazes. He can’t. Not during all of this. Castiel’s involvement in this doesn’t seem right. Sure, it’s plain as day the guy’s stressed and following orders. But you have to grow a spine sometime, right? Well, he supposes angel don’t. That little trick is left to all the lonely people. Turning his back to the entire scene, Dean listens to it play out. 

“I'm sorry.” Castiel’s voice sound emptier than he’s used to hearing. It only supports Dean’s assumptions. 

“No. You're not. Not really. You don't know the feeling.” Anna replies coolly. Dean’s pretty sure she’s wrong. But he’s not about to go blabbing his mouth about that now. Not with tall, dark and jackass lurking about. Castiel had shared his doubt in confidence. And who is to say that Anna would even believe him after he’d given her up to save Sam?

“Still, we have a history. It's just…”

Anna doesn’t let him finish. “Orders are orders. I know. Just make it quick.”

Of course, that’s when the demons show up. Fucking Alastair. It’s nearly paralyzing to see him this up close and personal topside. Willing himself to fade into the shadow, Dean steps back and watches the two camps play mine’s bigger. Uriel throws the first insult. It’s unsettling that the demons feel pretty much the same way about the guy as Dean does. If they survive this, he should ask Sam how he feels about the dick; see if his hatred is… normal. He’s got to hand it to Castiel, though, he doesn’t jump in with insults. No, he dives in with solid threats. “You know who we are and what we will do. I won't say it again. Leave now... or we lay you to waste.”

Alastair’s slurred response gives Dean the creeps. “Think I'll take my chances.”

And then the fighting really begins. Everywhere Dean looks there’s demon on angel action. He doesn’t know where to step in or if he’d just be getting in the way. This is the first time that he’ll have fought within such close range of his brother; what if he sees his eyes? The fists of another black-eyed SOB ultimately make the decision for him. He’s so busy fighting it that he almost misses Castiel trying to exorcise Alastair and failing. 

“Sorry, kiddo. Why don't you go run to daddy?” He leers at the angel.

Dean, however, does not miss Alastair raising his hand above Castiel’s chest and chanting. “Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferma, me confirma!”

Clenching his hand tightly around the crowbar he’d been fighting with, Dean dodges away from the demon he’d been fighting and swings with everything he’s got; all the rage, all the shame, all the fear. It’s easy to zero in on the bastard that had him on the rack for decades. There is bare shock on Castiel’s face when Alastair relents, steps away, and refocuses his attention on the hunter. “Dean, Dean, Dean... I am so disappointed. You had such promise.”

Sam is suddenly at his side. He does a startled double take at Dean but then they are too busy fighting for their lives. They fend off Alastair’s attacks with little success. It isn’t until they hear Anna’s panicked voice rising above everything instructing them to shut their eyes, that they realize it’s over. Both sides have failed. 

Breathless from the fighting, Dean scowls at Uriel and Castiel. “Well, what are you guys waiting for? Go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared.” He wonders if his eyes are black. He hopes they are. And he hopes that it’s a vision that haunts them for days.

“This isn't over.” Uriel sneers at him. He even takes a menacing step towards them only to have Castiel stop him with nothing but a gesture of his hand.

Whatever. Dude was seriously a dick. “Oh, it looks over to me, junkless.” Sparing a glance in Castiel’s direction, Dean frowns at his beaten posture. Face bloodied and shoulders sagging, the angel acknowledges his attention with brief nod before they disappear. Something isn’t right but Dean can’t put his finger on it.


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of pavement beneath baby’s wheels is the only sound to break the uneasy silence between him and Sam. It hadn’t gone unnoticed after the showdown with Heaven’s greatest dicks that his brother had pulled Ruby to side and grilled her until she’d fled with an angry flare of her nostrils and a menacing glare in Dean’s own direction.

“When were you going to tell me?”

He wasn’t. “I wasn’t.”

Sam’s fist collides with the dashboard. They’re already bruised and swollen from the earlier fight. Dean can only imagine the throb of pain that is radiating from them now. He glances at his brother and finds him clenching his jaw tight; no outward sign of suffering beyond the betrayed shadow in his eyes. He’s exactly the type of person Alastair loved placing on Dean’s rack; unbreakable or damn near as such. Everything that he was not. 

“I thought Bobby did the tests…” Sam finally adds after they’ve made it at least ten more miles down the road.

“He did.”

“Then how the hell are you…” Jaw clenching again, Sam won’t even look at him. 

“I don’t know.” His voice sounds soft and meek. It makes his stomach churn. It isn’t who he is. Dean runs a hand listlessly through his hair but doesn’t take his eye off the road. If Sammy’s not gonna look at him, he won’t give him the benefit either.

“...what about the tattoo?”

Grazing his thumb over the fabric of his t-shirt above the tattoo, Dean sighs. “It’s still there… I get it, demons lie, but man… you gotta believe me on this. I don’t know how or why I came back like… like this. I don’t know why Bobby’s holy water, salt, or any of his other shit didn’t burn the shit outta me. I don’t know.”

“You think…” Sam finally cuts his eyes in Dean’s direction. “You think maybe anybody that’s been to hell comes back like you, then?”

And there it is again. Hope. If Sammy has it about this, then whatever shit he’s spewing ain’t likely. “Maybe? It’s as good as any guess so far.” The deception falls from his lips far too easily. And strangely enough, Dean can’t be bothered to care. Not in the slightest. Not when his little brother’s hand is back on his shoulder and his misguided faith is restore.


	8. Chapter 8

They find themselves facing reapers less than a week later. And once again, an innocent person dies because of their involvement. Pamela hadn’t exactly been a willing participant helping the angels. She was still pretty pissed at Castiel. And with good reason. In the end, she was just another tally added to the body count. It was becoming pretty clear that the angels didn’t get that no one was an acceptable loss. Dean was beginning to wonder if demons had more scruples than their heavenly counterpart. 

Alastair has him alone in an alley, when Castiel finally bothers to appear. In a flash of light, the demon is gone. The searing pain is sudden and more than just a little overwhelming. Dean is on his knees crying out before he knows what’s hit him.

And then he realizes, the most painful memory he had of Hell… the one that kept him up at night and hand him resoundingly trying his damnedest to be a good man… had no origin in Hell after all. It had been Castiel, all along. When the angel approaches him, it’s all he can do not to cower in his presence. 

“You and Sam just saved a seal. We captured Alastair. Dean, this was a victory.” He explains in his new distant tone. There is no hello. There is no concern for his well being. There is no apology for the death of their friend. It’s just down to business. He doesn’t even seem to notice that Dean’s forced into a servile position by the very presence of his powers. 

And that hurts more than Dean is willing to admit. “Well, no thanks to you.” Wasn’t this whole gig supposed to be about them helping each other? That was definitely not what was going down. Everything stunk of the angels using them as some kind of fodder. They didn’t seem to care that everyone on the front line usually ended up dead or worse… just as long as there was a front line.

“What makes you say that?” Castiel looks him over with a frown.

“You were here the whole time?” He challenges. That meant that at any time, Castiel, or hell any other angel, could’ve popped in and helped them. But they didn’t. Why would they? A couple of abominations like the Winchesters? God had little use for either of them unless it was to take a bullet.

“Enough of it.” When Castiel looks away, it confirms Dean’s suspicions. He takes back every kind thought he’s had about the guy. He was a dick just like the rest of them. “That script on the funeral home; we couldn't penetrate it.” The angel admitts seeming legitimately embarassed of the ineptitude.

Oh. “That was angel-proofing?” And now he felt like an ass. He’d seen countless demons rendered helpless in traps. He should’ve realized there was an angelic equivalent. But why couldn’t they just come out and ask him and Sam for help? Be upfront about it?

“Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?” There’s a hint of something that could almost be a smile, a devious one at that, on the angel’s lips. If it weren’t for the words coming out of his mouth, Dean would have almost found it enticing. 

Dean does a double take. Castiel is watching him intently. It’s a little unnerving. “You recruited us? How?”

Something not unlike shame, though still mingled with price, at being caught gloating seems to find its way onto Castiel’s face as he speaks. Apparently, he’s not as unnerved by staring as Dean is because he doesn’t look away when the hunter proceeds to do so. “That wasn't your friend Bobby who called, Dean. It wasn't Bobby who told Sam about the seal.”

“That was you?” Castiel breaks his gaze and looks down. Yeah, that was definitely shame he’d seen on the angel’s face. “If you want our help, why the hell didn't you just ask?”

Frustrated, Castiel sighs. “Because whatever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite.” 

Well, he’s not wrong. But it wasn’t being done out of spite. These angels; they expected trust without earning it. It’s like they thought they could spout off about being under God’s orders and that the masses should trip over themselves to do as they were told. The only one of the dicks that seemed to have anything remotely similar to a conscious was Castiel. It was a pretty sad day when Dean, in all of his black-eyed wonder, seemed to have more principles than these celestial douchebags. “So, what now, huh? The people in this town, they just gonna start dying again?”

“Yes.”

Not acceptable. “These are good people. Don’t you think you can make a few exceptions?” 

“To everything there is a season.”

Dean knows a load of horse shit when he sees one. It’s ridiculous to have this Hallmark crap thrown in his face and labelled as one of God’s mysterious way or to be told that everything happens for a reason. Screw that. People were dying that had so much more living to do. “You made an exception for me.”

About to speak, Castiel pauses and meets Dean’s eyes. “You’re different.” 

Jumping when Castiel’s hand presses against his cheek, Dean pinches his eyes closed. He expects the angel’s touch to hurt somehow. Instead, there’s nothing more than a surge in the tingling sensation of electric current that encompases his body whenever he’s in the presence of something holy. He doesn’t want to be different. He really, really doesn’t. But, he already knows he’d come back irrevocably so. Castiel’s simple touch soothes him so much more than the bottle he’s been trying to drowned himself in for days. It’s enough to pull out the tears he’d be fighting not to shed since he’d rose in that field in Illinois… alone. 

Back in the day, this smoke and dagger shit would’ve pissed him the hell off. He’d be fighting it tooth and nail. Apparently, to some extent he still is because Castiel had ended up lying just to get him and Sam to do something for the angels. But things had began to shift and change. Now? Now, he goes through the motions until he see Castiel again. He’s Dean’s hope in a hopeless world. Divine recompense for his demonic transgressions.

Because at least when they are acting under the angel’s wishes, something in the world seems to make sense. Really, all they have to do is come out and ask as long as they are willing to explain even just a little. Maybe, just maybe he can convince Castiel of this. 

Dean loathes to admit it but with Castiel around there is more to living than suffering to life and for the first time ever, him and Sam aren’t alone in fighting for it. It’s more power over his own life than Dean’s given anyone... ever since their father passed. 

It isn’t right. It can’t be. Pulling away from his touch, Dean stares in wide-eyed shock at Castiel until he disappears.

This changes everything.


End file.
